The Golden Lamb
by Starlit Skyline
Summary: Tell me, Headmaster, have you ever picked favorites?


Golden Pupils

Hello, Headmaster, long time no see. Sorry to disturb you, I was just wondering, if you'd be so kind as to answer a few questions for me.

Tell me Headmaster, have you ever picked favorites?

It's something teachers often do, even the most strict and stern and even the kind ones like you. You're not very obvious about it, so don't worry – everyone expects you to call Harry up for tea and lemon drops every other week. It's only normal, he's more important a pawn and they the unsuspecting lamb you are charged to guard.

Which leads to my second question, Headmaster dear:

Tell me Headmaster, what is this "greater good" you preach? Was it an honorable cause or the means to an end? No, of course not, what a Slytherin thing to say.

But you've made mistakes, have you not? You've made mistakes like the rest of us. You're no better, you're no worse. You're only a human, even though you might. Would I be scared if I saw the true face beneath?

Pure as you are twisted, gentle while you would be cruel. You certainly had us all fooled.

And what of choices, my dear Headmaster? Let us talk of destiny and how we choose what we are meant to be. Choices, choices – what to choose? So many possibilities, but what have I got to lose?

I am young, as you were, so I guess to stray and to hunger, both for knowledge and power, is only natural. Are you really a Gryffindor? Your ambition colors you green, a snake misplaced. You've hidden yourself well, have you not? Fangs turned into friendly smiles and poison to lemon drops – quite the hoax, quite the brilliant plot.

Choices, choices... and you've chosen to hide and manipulate and lie. But you are a leader, not a friend and your minions are not your children and colleagues, but your tools to shape and nourish, or misplace and neglect, as you see fit.

Benevolent grandfather, you've left us some bad examples.

But these are quite the heavy topics, no? So let's move on, there's no reason to linger in shadow and bitter strife – so let us bathe in the sunlight!

And the sun will always shine, Headmaster, I am sure. But tell me, Headmaster, were they students or sacrifices or soldiers under your caring wing? Were they happy children running down the halls, loud and laughing and soaking up the sunny days on the grassy grounds beneath your darkest tower? Were they sneaking about at late hours, and discovering deadly secrets and conspiracies unheard of? Were they stumbling as you lead them in the dark? Did they reach for the Light?

And Harry, for we've always spoken of sweet, little naïve Harry? Bitter, brash and wayward Harry? You kept him at a safe distance, hadn't you? But close enough to hold in your firm grasp?

I wonder, Headmaster, had you eyes for any other child? The students in your care, were they overlooked because of the Golden Trio?

_How dare thy, Headmaster?_

This is a bit personal, Headmaster, but I have to ask: which of your children were truly yours? Which did you see as sons and daughters? For whom were you a role-model, a loon or parent so needed but never there? For whom were you the only family that they had ever had? How tragically, pitifully sad.

And is it a hobby of yours, to give out death warrants to those closest to your heart? How sad, how tragic, so why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you stop, before it all fell apart?

Tell me, is it honestly that easy to turn a blind eye? But, then again, you always did bask in the light – turning your back on shadowed hallways and the people trapped in the dark.

Slytherins are no good, wayward and easily straying from good – why weren't you there, to help them back on the right track? What quality did they lack? What wrong could not be righted in them?

What do your wizened eyes see when they look upon a son in all but blood? A snake, maybe, but you can surely easily see through that façade? But that's the problem, isn't it? He isn't your blood, he's a pawn, important but disposable in every right. But, why? Why didn't you tell him he was worth something? But you were looking for a tool, I guess, not a son to take care of and love.

You're a brilliant liar, you know, because for a moment, I might have thought that you really care. But you do, don't you? Perhaps not. Maybe? Do you have my answer, Headmaster? Or will you deflect and sooth away all words you wish not to hear?

Far too little, far too late – is that how you've always done it, how you've always been?

It's a dangerous game you're playing, Headmaster, but you don't need me to tell you that, you've learned it's rules the hard way. You just fail to warn, all those little lambs you shove upon your side of the chessboard.

They were all children, weren't they? Your children, your lambs, soldiers, charges – but discarded when not needed. Some were special, some were not – there was envy between them because of that. But still, in your eyes, they were not all the same.

There was Tom, I know you used to like him – a knowledgeable youth, strong and independent, destined for great things. But he was not easily played, and became your opponent soon enough.

And Severus, who you hadn't even noticed until it was too late – maybe it always was, maybe you wouldn't have done anything even if you knew those secrets. Other Slytherins had suffered the same fate, yes?

Or the Marauders, maybe, in their golden and red, like blood and glory and the eternal Phoenix?

And let us not forget our little hero, Harry! Such a good, obedient little boy.

I wonder, Headmaster, what would have happen if you hadn't picked favorites? And so I ask, Headmaster, have you any regrets?

Do you think of the little boy who nobody wanted? Of the little lamb you pampered and raised and that would inevitably be gutted? Do you think of all those aghast faces, of colleagues and friends?

No, probably not. You're gone now anyway, so there's nothing to be worried about. There's no need to think about those you're leaving behind, while you move on ahead.

In the end, my hat is off to you. Such a good actor, so good in fact, I'm begging to doubt what is right and true.

And as the curtain falls, Headmaster, this is my final question to you:

The choices you've made, have shaped you – warped you, some would say – but, Headmaster, I have to wonder: Have you truly no regrets?

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_AN: This is a weird little thing I came up with... I had this idea ever since reading "The Little Boy That Nobody Wanted" by Unspoken Tragedy, which was really good and really sad. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this... REVIEW, PLEASE?_


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